2020-01-05 - Banter and Bluster


After the bizarre turn an event in Battery Park took, three of the 'survivors' stop to exchange snarky comments and contact information.

Log Info:

Storyteller: None
Date: Sun Jan 5 03:50:59 2020
Location: RP Room 2

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"Entertainment?" Shayera puffs up in annoyed anger at the implication, her wings quite literally fluffing out to nearly twice their normal size before smoothing back down again as she mutters a sting of choice invectives in her native language. "Have either of you heard of this 'Mojoworld' place?"

She returns her mace to its place on her belt and crosses her arms, clearly expecting either the fear-inducing man or the apparently fearless man to answer her.

One of them had BETTER answer.

Ambrose is still staring off in the direction of Cain's disappearance. It's not common for someone else in the city, much less on the continent itself, to trigger the Bane's predatory instinct to this degree — and it's concerning as hell to him, even if he's got a masterful control to the curse at this point in time.

Looking back towards Shayera, however, he lets his attention slide between her and this young man with a very good sense of swordsmanship. "No, I am unaware of anything called 'Mojoworld'. However, I do remember a popular word during the nineteen-forties in 'mojo', though in regards to magic and not technology."

Alexander then gets a lingering glance. "You've a good hand with that weapon. I'm impressed." And rarely is Ambrose impressed.

As is so often invoked in the face of particular flavors of anger, a certain measure of instant camaraderie is created at least on Alexander's part. For he can tell that Shayera's anger is aimed at him… and Ambrose. Voila, instant comrades. So the youth glances askance toward the older man, then back to Shayera, then back to him.
For an instant his lip twists as he considers something to say but likely wisely does not grant it voice. Instead he clears his throat and tells her, "Um. No, me neither?" He uncurls a hand in her direction, however. "But, I have sort of seen a similar thing in the past. Down in a magical marketplace of sorts."
As if such a thing was a known phenomenon. Now, however, with 'most' of the danger having departed… Alexander gestures to the side with his sword as if tossing it aside, causing the weapon to flicker out of existence and fade from reality.
He does answer, Ambrose however as he responds cheerfully, "That's kind of you to say," Acknowledging the compliment politely.

With a polite enough nod to Isis as she takes her leave, Shay turns her attention back to the two men who haven't fled. "Great. At least you're both not a waste of space in a fight." Clearly, she's heard the term 'mojo' used in common vernacular as well. Alex's mention of some manner of marketplace has her turning to unimpressed stare on him. "Where is this marketplace?"

Again with the brusque, police-like questioning.

The vanishing of the sword is another fascinating trick. Ambrose blinks to see it. "Yes, of course," he replies almost absent-mindedly to Alexander. Itching in his hair is blood drying, no doubt, and he scratches at it with blunt nails and wishes for a shower something dearly. Ah well: once he gets home.

He too considers Alexander, but in a more measuring way. Anyone showcasing any form of magic generally receives this treatment from the master-thief.

"A marketplace? Here in the city? I might have heard of it." The offering comes with noticeable hesitation. He takes up straightening himself as a whole, dusting off the sleeves of his dark near-trenchcoat and at his pants. It must be a composure move for all that no dust shows on this clothing; after all, it didn't go into the Mojoverse.

"Well, I mean, that's good since some people like to take up way more space than most others what with their giganto wings getting in the way." The pacing and tone of the comment given is so easy-going and casually offered that it might seem as if he were making light with an old friend. Even though he barely knows the Hawkperson. But before perhaps too much umbrage can be registered he presses on…
"Underneath an NYU auditorium." Alexander answers matter-of-factly, accentuating the statement with a point of a finger at her even as he glances over toward Ambrose as if to see if the fellow might be experienced in such a place or to observe what he might think of such a revelation.
Then the youth elaborates, "I was doing some work with some vigilante people and there was this shindig with various Fae running around…" His brow furrows then as his gaze distances, "I mean. I've been gone for a bit. It might still be going on." He nods as if admitting the fact to himself.
He shifts his stance to face Ambrose more directly, "I've only been the once. It's the one down below, long stairway. Turns and then there's an open area for a sort of festival. They sell things, but also there are lectures on magical topics?" A pause as he looks to see if any of this matches Ambrose's recollection. "But haven't been since. They might be grumpy at me, and when fae get upset they tend to close stuff off from you without you knowing."

Shayera barely spares a glance at Ambrose for the moment, considering that he's nto really doing anything noteworthy to her right now. Yes, she'd felt something seriously off about him earlier, but so far as she can tell right NOW, it could well have been something to do with that crazy place they all found themselves in. So, she dismisses it and focuses on Alexander who's decided to be flippant.

With her wings fluffing up again at the young man's snark, it could well look like she's honestly taken offense at his words. But then, she doesn't otherwise comment, her wings smoothing down again as they rustle and resettle. "I'll have to look into this marketplace, then." He again used a term she's not heard before — fae — but that she can easily enough research on her own so as to not look TOO ignorant. The disappearing sword trick, however…

"I'm guessing the magic part of that lame explanation is how you also plan to make excuses for making that green knife of yours just disappear." Yes, she called his katana a knife.

Alexander's comment about the wings earns a furtive smile from the Jackal. He flicks one eyebrow in silent commisceration before smoothing his features out to an infuriating neutrality learned long ago and long-practiced daily in the city.

By how Ambrose's dark brows draw together, however, the marketplace existing on a university campus is something new to him. A slightly canine tilt to his head indicates his care in listening.

"At least you know better than to trust the Fae or provoke them. You are wise beyond your years. Though I grant that I am curious at to seeing this place."

He does grin at Shayera's return ribbing. Coyly, he adds in an exaggerated accent for all to hear, "But it was a knoife."

The Dundee reference swooshes over Alexander's head as he sort of looks at Ambrose with that slight twist to his brow signaling the hint of confusion. His lips part as he lifts a hand, bright blue eyes slipping back and forth from one to the other of them as if pondering a response with some measure of sincerity.
But then he crinkles his nose and makes a small harumph at Shayera, "Well, I wasn't planning on explaining it." He motions with the hand that had held the weapon, "But yeah. Magic works. A sorta mix of Olympian and Shinto magic." Considering he is one, and the blade is another.
"I mean sure it's not a blunt club wielded with all the finesse of a rhinoceros. But I like my knife."

Unlike Alexander, Shay HAS actually seen the movie that Ambrose just blithely mentioned and it's earned the Brit a rather irate glance. "Like your peashooters?" Because yes, to her mind almost any Grounder projectile weapon is laughably adorable. Like seeing a soldier going to war wielding a BB gun.

Olympian and Shinto. More words for her to go and research, though she can at least tell that they've originated from different languages. Oh, but then the man dares to imply THINGS about her fighting style and her expression goes stormy-grouchy again, echoed by another fluffing of her wings. "Blunt club? You know nothing, young man."

Ambrose appears unperturbed by the mixed reception of his quote. He simply curls a slow smile, pleased with himself at garnering reactions at all — it's the simple stuff in life.

"To each their own, I suppose. I would be amused to see you attempt to use my peashooters or his knife, milady, given your penchant to swat about. Our weaponry requires…finesse," he opines delicately. "But regardless, your name, young sir? And you, milady?" A hand outspread before him further asks of them. "If curiosity is to take us places, I hazard that I might see either of you at this magical bazaar at some point."

"Well, blunt except for the places here you pounded nails into it with a hammer." Which is an out and out fib, there were no nails in her blunt club. But that doesn't stop Alexander from making light. And perhaps just as it might seem that another ruckus might well break out, the youth at last knows when to give ground as he adds.
"But, to be fair." He crosses his arms over his chest, letting his eyes slip to the side and away, before he looks back at Ambrose as if saying it just to him. "You guys can fight pretty well. We did pretty good there." Then his blue eyes return to Shayera. "And hey, thanks for not leaving me behind." Since, to be fair, she did swoop in to help him out. A bit.
Of course then Ambrose begins to request introductions and so the youth responds, "Alex, Alexander. Aaron. Alexander Aaron." He says that quickly, as if ordering it up in his thoughts, for some reason that causing a small stumbling block for him before he adds as he looks to them both. "Or Phobos. If we're using like, other names."

Narrowing her eyes at Ambrose and then including Alex in her glare, she holds out one hand. "Fine. Hand me whatever weapon you want, or stop judging a warrior by the only weapon they have on hand on the moment." If she'd not had her mace with her, she could just as easily have taken anything their opponents had brought to the field. One of those halberds could have been fun, she's not had the chance to play with that style of weapon for several years now.


"Phobos, akin to 'fear'." Ambrose murmurs this thoughtfully to himself as he gives Alexander a cursory once-over again. Latin lessons in his long-lost age of youth do serve well now and then. "Young Alexander then — well-met. The Jackal, at your service. I daresay we all did hold our ground well enough against those creatures. Would that I had a heavier grade of firepower, but beggars cannot be choosers when one's life is on the line."

He gives the winged woman a squint, but only for a moment. Then, reaching into his interior coat pocket, he brings out a simple switch-blade. This he tosses towards Shayera. "There you all, milady of no name, now you've a knife and we are all equals." Alexander gets a quick wink of comraderie.

"Jackal," Alexander replies with a nod, eyes widening slightly as if he were commiting the name to memory. Which he is. He takes a breath and then offers a smile before he swivels on a foot to consider Shayera and her demands.
"I'm not really carrying," He starts to answer her as he digs into a pocket, producing a small roll of candies. "I have some…" He peers and pulls back the twisted aluminum foil from the packaging and then lifts his gaze to the red-headed hawk gal. "Some Mentos?" He offers to her as a substitute weapon.
"Der frischmacher!" He adds with a thick German accent and is smile broadens as if he thought that was funny for some reason. But that likely… doesn't go over well so he actually apologizes. Sort of. "I was just cracking wise, ma'am. I didn't mean anything by it." Uh oh, she's now an 'ma'am', though.

Shayera catches the switchblade and after a moment of examining the item gets the blade to deploy. Which, underwhelming, but fine.

"Shayera Hol," she finally offers to the two men as Alexander offers her… candy? Again, FINE.

If Alex lets her have a piece of that candy, she backs up a couple of steps and tosses the candy into the air, and then with a swipe of that switchblade and the flap of one wing, the Mentos is split into two not exactly equal pieces and there's one of said pieces swatted at the both men's faces.

If you're quick, you get a Mentos on the fly. If you're not, you might get pegged in the face.

Ambrose peers at the coin roll-like offering. It seems like no weaponry he's seen before — ah, wait, it's minty chewable candies. His smile hooks up hard to one side at the sheer audacity of Alexander. Rather than outright laugh (because he is a gentleman-thief), he glances off to one side as if hearing a noise that merited his attention and shifts in place, his hands now tucked into the pockets of his coat.

The Jackal leans to one side to avoid the fragment of candy flying at him. He glances over his shoulder and then back to Shayera, his opinion mild: "I see. Remind me not to proffer you candy in the future."

DOINK Alex gets a half-mento to the face causing him to wince a little with one eye scrunching up as he turns his head to the side. "Heeey." He holds up a hand as if only then deflecting it but his features keep the mildly perturbed look to them.
"Alright alright, you are scary good, despite being terribly short and with a huge temper." There, he gives with one hand and… takes away with the other. "Shayera. Jackal. And Alex."
He looks to the others and then says solemnly, "And they shall be known as the Fellowship. Of the Ring."

After taking a moment to clean off the blade, Shayera closes the knife again and tosses it back to Ambrose. "I don't really care for Grounder candy anyway. Too fake tasting except for that one place out of East Syracuse."

She then quips to Alex, "Damn straight, and don't forget it," though after a moment she adds, "And smaller things have to be more vicious in order to survive." She leans toward him a bit, her wings spreading back as if to counterbalance. "And being shorter means my low attacks are perfectly placed."

The switch-blade is caught easily and stowed away just as easily. Now, Ambrose laughs, unable to help it. This young man is delightfully nonchalant about the entire proceedings.

"I've no clever way into Mordor," he shares, now grinning broadly. "But perhaps milady Shayera might have a clever way in. She carried you some small distance." He gives the winged woman a flash of boyish charm as he settles his weight again to one foot. "But come now, we need not spar. That is over and done with, in that Mojoworld." His hand gesture is dismissive as if to wave any discomfort away.

Lip twitching slightly, perhaps fighting off a smile, Alexander shakes his head and rolls his eyes first upward, around, and then away as he looks over towards Ambrose and lifts his eyebrows as if to say, 'get a load of the winged chick.' But that smile that's being fought off is there for any that might just take a moment to look.
He turns his head back to her and says, "See, if we keep hanging out chances are we're gonna get into a fight and then you'll feel all bad while I heal."
Then he interrupts himself by pressing forward, "BUT!" He says loudly, nodding to Ambrose, "I should tell you guys I believe in the whole 'Fate' thing. Us meeting each other is probably indicative of a larger circumstance." He looks between the two of them, "Chances are we were meant to know each other. For good or ill."

Leaning back again, Shay once again crosses her arms. "I'm sure I could carry both your lazy butts, but not for very far. I'm not a bicycle." Yes, she knows the internet connotation of that phrase. "And if us meeting was fate, it was likely so that I could protect your lily white asses from whatever that crap was back there. Don't get used to it."

Even as she's still being all salty and stuff, is that perhaps the faintest hint of a smirk to her otherwise sour expression? R

Laughter curls up behind his grin now. "I would not dare rest the weight of my own Fate upon your shoulders. Someone else shoulders it and he does so well," he says to Shayera with a nod of his head. "Fate." The manner in which Ambrose says this grants it a respectable amount of weight, even despite its incorporeal idealization. He looks to one side and curls a tongue around his canine tooth beneath his lip.

"One mustn't idly speak to Fate. I do hope it is to the good, the threads of our lives crossing as such. I tire of ill-Fated encounters." His smile is more quiet now, infinitely more jaded.

"I've met them," Alex offers off-handedly as they speaks of Fate. He digs into the pocket of his jeans, breathing a small sigh of relief as he produces his cellphone and swipes it to life, realizing that he did not lose it with whatever transition that was in the Mojo realm. He flits through a few menus as he adds, "The Fates. Not super nice."
And with that damning testimonial Alexander Aaron then looks up and extends his phone toward them, "Here, here's my info if you guys find some crazy stuff going down. Usually in class during the days of the week, but yeah."
Should the others take him up on the offer they'll find his information easily enough attained.

Shayera nods and looks to the offered phone, pulling her own hand-held device to tap in the information there and then send a text message to confirm it. "Also, if either of you ever need, you can also contact me through the NYPD or Isis' company, Paragon Investigations. Both of them know how to find me." She also offers to share her info with Jackal, though she won't be offended if he refuses.

Alexander's seemingly idle comment about Fate (the Fates, he thought he heard) has the Jackal giving him a look bemused. Still, Ambrose takes a step forwards to eye the information. Nodding curtly, he then brings out his own phone and inputs the information swiftly and surely. His own model is several years out of date, but it appears to work just fine.

"There…we…are, under Alexander…Aaron." A quick lean-over to eye Shayera's phone and he taps it in. "And you are under…Shayera Hol. Both of you shall get a confirmation text soon enough."

Sliding his phone away into his pants pocket, Alexander is given another considering look and it might appear almost as if Ambrose were attempting to read his mind. He cannot, by any means, so it must be a tic picked up from his other half (who can, in fact, read minds). Finally, with a quiet huff of a laugh and a flash of a grin, he nods to both the young man and Shayera.

"I wish you both a quieter day and may Fate be kind in the interim between our next encounter," he offers even as he turns and walks away, disappearing into the New York crowds with practiced ease.

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